


Community Service

by Ylevihs



Series: How Not to Fall [10]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied Suicide Attempt, M/M, Retribution Spoilers, alcohol abuse referenced, canon typical self loathing, self harm referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: Richard attempts to build a wall





	Community Service

The fact that most of the people around him were there of their own free will was still tripping Richard up. It wasn’t noon yet and already the sun was beating down on Los Diablos hard enough to raise the temperatures to triple digits. The afternoon was going to be insufferable. And all around him, red, shiny faces. Slick with sweat and gritty with dirt and smiling even through the shimmering heat. 

He was miserable. He’d worn the lightest weight clothing he could find that still covered enough and he was melting. Long sleeves stuck tight to his arms with sweat and flesh boiling underneath the reflective vest. Every inch of skin that was exposed he was sure was going to burn. Every inch of skin not exposed was doing its best to liquefy in the sun.

There were a few people whose thoughts were more on his side; silent internal cursing because it was just _too damn hot out_ to do this. Grumbling about various aches and pains. Some who, like him, had been coerced into helping out by their groups or significant others. More people were concerned about getting lunch, preferably somewhere inside and out of the sun. A select number were still a little star struck, their eyes and thoughts slipping towards the marvelously disheveled blonde hovering by the foreman. Most were focused on the tasks before them though, and Richard couldn’t deny that that helped keep his own thoughts from straying too far.

Someone was touching him.

At his elbow, a woman with a narrow face and broad shoulders, one of the direct and focused minds, asked: “All ready?” Richard gave the foreman what he hoped wasn’t a weary nod and bent down low to get a good grip on the wood. Down a bit from him another man did the same, crouching down and waiting for the signal. “Lift on three,” the woman walked slowly backwards, making an upwards motion with her empty hands. “One. Two. Three.” 

If someone had told him four months ago, four weeks ago even, that Richard would be helping rebuild something Mad Dog had destroyed, he would have laughed. 

Well. Alright, no. 

He wouldn’t have laughed but he certainly wouldn’t have believed them. Yet, here he was. Doing. The thought clogged up the drains in his head. Doing community service. It was a little heartening to know that for all his sobbing and stupid flowers and terrible communication skills, the best punishment Daniel could come up with, barring jail time, was volunteer work. 

_He’s just as a lost as I am_ , Richard blinked sweat out of his eyes and lifted. There was something about that thought that made the back of his throat go dry. 

The building had been a city-run homeless shelter, partially destroyed during one of Mad Dog’s fights against Lady Argent. It hadn’t been accidental, even if most of The Media outlets had played it off that way. Miss Ochoa was not counted among them. She had written a rather fiery piece about the swirling rumors that the homeless shelter had actually been abusing the people seeking help there, stealing what little they did have and forcing them to degrade themselves for the gift of not having to sleep on the streets. Richard had particularly liked her paragraph condemning City Hall for ignoring hundreds of complaints about the place. The ineffectiveness of the bureaucracy. She’d been complimentary enough of Mad Dog’s actions, which she believed were intentional, that Richard had been sorely tempted to cut the article out and save it. 

Since that was out of the question, the memory of the article was tacked onto a mental refrigerator instead. 

Regardless of whether or not people believed it was purposeful, there was enough public attention on it to make management scurry, trying to hide the evidence of what they’d been doing. Failing to hide the evidence. The city had been forced to transfer ownership of the shelter to a more reputable group for the time being so that an actual investigation could get under way. 

The wooden frame was easy enough to lift, the walls the volunteers were helping raise were only meant to be temporary anyway. Patchwork until actual contractors could be brought in on the city’s dime. It was more Richard’s height than anything else which had singled him out for this particular job, helping hold the framework steady with a well-placed forearm so that other hands could nail it in place. 

When it was secure the foreman clapped her hands, loud and clear and held them up to her mouth, an impromptu mega-phone. 

“Alright folks, great work here today!” she listed off several names of volunteers, their groups, small businesses and with a clap to his shoulder, Herald, for offering their time this weekend to help out. “There’s water bottles in the cooler, feel free to take one on your way out. Stay cool and drive safe!” 

The press of the crowd’s thoughts turned in those same few directions—lunch, getting out of the heat, gratefulness at having finished, self-congratulation (my, what good people they were, so much better than those new neighbors), and still, one or two on Daniel. Not including Richard’s own. 

Not that he could blame them. 

A little iceberg of regret drifted along in the harbor of his heart. 

Daniel was still chatting away with the foreman, hovering about a foot off the ground. Cheeks lightly pinked, shirt clinging to his chest, sweat damp hair fluttering lightly in the breeze and. 

Ah, beans.

Maybe he _shouldn’t_ have confessed when he had. It would have been nice to be able to go over and stand next to Daniel without. While still pretending that. Well. Take his hand or. Richard shook his head to dislodge the incomplete thoughts. There was no use wishing for what couldn’t happen. Wouldn’t happen. 

Daniel hadn’t arrested him. And his thoughts were so. So close to being where Richard had never dreamed to hope they would go. Not quite forgiveness but. Not outright rejection, either. Daniel’s thoughts were stained a little darker now at the edges when he looked at Richard, but there was still a faint flutter. Still a breeze. Not as quick and not as free, which made Richard’s heart sink into his stomach, but they floated in Daniel’s head despite everything. It was more than Richard deserved.

He could feel the conflict in Daniel’s thoughts, like a sore tooth at the back of his mouth, and tried not to count it as a victory. He hadn’t taken Richard back, but he also hadn’t completely cut Richard out of his life. He hadn’t arrested him. Hadn’t condemned him to death the way a very quiet but frighteningly large portion of Richard’s mind had wanted him to. The.

Eyes. 

Daniel was looking at him and Richard was suddenly, revoltingly, treated to a view of himself. Greasy, tired, filthy and ah, beans. Yeah, sunburnt a bit on his forehead, curly orange hair matted heavy with sweat, squinting for all the world like something that crawled out of the sewers and was encountering sunlight for the first time. He pulled back and out but not before a little zip of Daniel’s. Of his. 

Oh dear, of Daniel’s _approval_ made it through. Heavily tinted with doubt and hesitation but. 

Richard’s stomach rolled on itself even as every bone in his body tried to vibrate out of his skin at the same time. 

Approval? That. That just.

That couldn’t be right. It was though and Richard couldn’t bring himself to look up at Daniel’s face, more than a little palm sweat terrified of what he might find there. The distance was in his mind, the pressing, cruel knowledge of who and what he was and what he had done. But it was second cousins with the surging memory of the dizzying drop Richard had felt the first time Daniel had looked at him and realized that he wanted him. Not wanted to be him. 

It wasn’t forgiveness, Richard reminded himself. Would never could never he didn’t deserve he shouldn’t even imagine for a moment—

“—than I was expecting,” the man of the hour was drifting vaguely in Richard’s direction and, thank goodness, not looking at him. He was instead eyeing the structure they’d finished building.

Richard fumbled. “Yeah?” with the proximity now down to less than two feet, Daniel’s thoughts darted and dipped around him, impossible to block out entirely. Daniel visibly shifted. What was that like? To turn in the air without anything to push off against? “Sorry, I was a million miles away,” Richard muttered, stretching his arms out, keening aware of how sticky his clothing was. Ew. 

“I just said this went by quickly,” Daniel repeated patiently, watching Richard’s movements. Holding. Oh. Offering Richard a water bottle. After a moment of convincing his arm to move the way he wanted it to, Richard accepted it. Cold in his palm. For a fraction of a second Richard could feel Daniel considering brushing his fingers over Richard’s as he handed it over and thankfully thought better of it. 

“Really? It felt like it took years to me,” he held the bottle up against the carotid artery in his neck, trying to bring the cool into his veins. He caught a note of Daniel’s own discomfort with the heat. And the little flicker that what Daniel meant was that he wished it had taken longer darted in and out of Richard’s head. He didn’t let himself think too hard about that. Of course Herald would want it to take longer, this was part of Mad Dog’s punishment after all. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” 

“Sorry?” Richard tried to keep his voice as even-keeled as possible. Then tried to shift gears as quickly as possible. “Have another project for me already?”

“Not until tomorrow,” Daniel offered back and. Ah, beans that wasn’t a joke, he really did have something new. Was that the entirety of his plan? Keep Mad Dog busy picking up litter and planting flower beds? Reading stories to the elderly? 

_Good luck with that, Flyboy, you can’t stay on me 24/7. Even heroes have to sleep._

He sighed, sensing Daniel still waiting for an answer. “No, I don’t have any plans besides getting inside somewhere,” he fought back the urge to chew his lip and failed. “Do I want to ask why?” 

“Sure?” Daniel guessed. “I,” didn’t know, Richard realized. Didn’t know but wanted an excuse to keep an eye on him. Make sure Richard didn’t run off to make up for lost time as Mad Dog. The idea of getting lunch drifted, fell. Too close to something they might have done before he. Hm. “Walk with me?” it felt more neutral. People walked together all the time. Acquaintances. Coworkers. Wardens and their charges? In a way. People on death row had to be escorted to the death chamber by someone, didn’t they?

Richard’s mind wanted to weigh the merits of saying ‘no’ against, oh no, he heard his mouth saying, “Okay,” and he tried to keep the cold heaviness of his thoughts in the wake of Daniel drifting a few inches higher. Thoughts whirring quicker. Richard peeled the orange plastic vest from his back and lobbed it towards the.

Tried to throw it. Daniel caught it mid-arc and flew it over to where the other volunteers were stacking their own. Richard caught his glance in return and shrugged, making the universal motion for ‘after you’. 

-

It was a mistake to say yes, Richard realized, with Daniel hovering along at his side. Keeping pace. Even this felt too familiar. Too close. Too. He wouldn’t let himself think the word ‘intimate’ and clenched his hands tight. The back of his left hand had brushed a little against Daniel’s and Richard’s mind was keeping itself occupied dealing with the desire to claw at where contact had been made. Find some way to get the skin off, get the feeling off. It had felt nice and he didn’t want any part of that today.

An odd piece of advice wedged itself in between the self-destructive thoughts, counseling him to wait until he got home. He could fill a bowl with ice water and hold the hand in it, which would sting and prickle and, if it was cold enough, burn and ache until it went numb. It would hurt warming back up, as well. A win-win, plus Richard could keep his left hand from being skinned. 

It was getting closer to noon and there wasn’t a shadow in sight, so it wasn’t fair to say they were walking on the sunny side of the street. Horrible heat pounded down on them. They moved in silence for the most part. What was there really to talk about? Neither of them knew where they stood, and what common ground they had left was shakier than the fault lines beneath the city. Daniel still wanted this to be a particularly bad nightmare and Richard still wanted Daniel to haul off and hit him already. It had been two weeks. Two weeks of Daniel sending him information—times and places and what sort of volunteer work he was supposed to be doing when got there. 

Richard kept showing up, having no clue what the consequences would be if he didn’t because Daniel didn’t even know what he would do.

Mad Dog kept destroying buildings. Four days ago he’d dangled one of the mayor’s aides over the edge of their apartment building, and a week before that he’d let the nanovores eat most of the main thoroughfare leading up to the capital building. Daniel kept sending him the times and places to do his community service. Richard kept going. 

Not exactly how he pictured the upswing of villainous career to go. 

“You know,” Daniel’s voice cut through gently, less like a knife and more like a polite dancer cutting in. “If…,” his thoughts were muddled enough that Richard couldn’t get a terribly good read without really prying, so he didn’t. “If you ever want to talk about it,” Richard didn’t even get to finish asking ‘it?’ before Daniel was continuing. “You said you still haven’t told Ortega and,” Richard froze in place, forcing Daniel to twist midair to look at him. “And…,” his voice grew treacherously soft. “You said you trusted me, Richie. And that you still had things to tell me about that place,” Richard forced himself to hold Daniel’s gaze for as long as he could, feet desperately wanting to start running from this. “About what they did to you,”

“I think I’ll save that for my therapist,” 

Daniel’s thoughts soared. “You’ve told Docto--,”

“Of course I haven’t told her,” Richard hissed back. “But I’m also not going to unload all of that on you,” not until I’ve got a better grip on it, he added to himself. Having a complete break down while confessing to Daniel had definitely earned him sympathy points, but he’d rather not repeat it. They could have that conversation if and when Richard ever got around to fully letting himself remember everything. What he mostly had to go on were repressed and sensory. 

“It’s not unloading,” Daniel shook his head, landing. “I,” and Richard knew he wouldn’t, but his hand still drifted as if to hold his shoulder. “I still care about you, you know that right?” 

“I know,” Richard said, with far too much venom and still not enough; watching as Daniel’s fingers flinched just a little away. “I just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you that you do,” that got a reaction at least; it hadn’t been the response Daniel was preparing for and he had no rebuttal. Nothing to offer back except to blink for a moment before:

_“What?”_

Richard cleared his throat against the poison gathering there. “With Ortega it’s half guilt and half pity—the only reasons he puts up with any of the stuff I pull around him. He’s guilty about Heartbreak and pities me like I’m a helpless,” he couldn’t finish the thought and bit his tongue hard instead. Iron and heat and he swallowed. “I’ve got Ortega figured out,” Richard’s voice was softer. “And I can’t even see inside his head. But you I’ve got no clue on,” Daniel was radiating something which Richard chose to ignore. “How can you stand there and know what I am—what I did—and say that you care about me?”

“Do you really think those are the only reasons Ortega cares about you?” 

“What other reasons could he have? And don’t change the subject,” 

“Alright, fine. You want to know how I can possibly still care about you? Because it’s my choice,” Daniel lowered his voice, there weren’t many people out on the streets but there were still enough to have eyes darting over to them. “For fuck’s sake Richard. You think I don’t want to hate you? I want to be furious. I want to,” the words didn’t make it. The thought didn’t even make it.

Richard was in the air before he could react because even Daniel hardly knew he was going to do it. More muscle memory than decision, Daniel’s arms were around Richard’s torso, under his arms and up. Too fast. Faster than Daniel had ever flown with him before and Richard’s body made the choice the cling around Daniel’s shoulders before his mind could protest. Gravity pulled at his lungs and ankles and it was over before he could fully register it had happened. 

They were on the rooftop of a smaller building. Three stories? Maybe four. Didn’t matter in the long run, it was more than high enough for Richard’s liking. Daniel’s landing, if it could even be called that, was abrupt. Richard’s feet hit the rooftop hard, water bottle hitting harder, Daniel’s didn’t. He stayed in the air to keep the height advantage, hands gripping the soaking fabric of Richard’s shirt and pulling hard. Almost trapping him in place. Almost, but getting away would mean leaving his shirt behind and they both knew Richard would never. 

So there he stayed, face inches away from Daniel’s, using every fiber of self-control he’d ever had not to throw the punch he had aimed for Daniel’s throat. “I want to…,” and then Daniel paused, breathing out heavily through his nose. Tired, exasperated, angry. Concerned. Hot. “Did you try to kill yourself the night you told me about being Mad Dog?”

“No,” which wasn’t a lie. Daniel’s face darkened and _he can read me too well,_ Richard squirmed. “It wasn’t until a few days later,” Richard looked down and away, unable to stand those eyes on him. A brief memory of tightness around his neck, not tied properly. Blacking out, coming to. His hands had shook with too much gin to tie the knots tight enough to really strangle. “It’s not important,” he’d spent the rest of the time so sloppy drunk that the haze settled over the rest of his memories. 

“Not impor--? Richard, I want to hate you. I’ve wanted to hate you since you walked out of my apartment that night, but it turns out that I can’t make myself,” Richard felt something fragile inside of him crack with the pale honesty of Daniel’s admission. Something he’d been trying and failing to break for years. “I don’t know if I’m afraid of you but I don’t want to be,” 

You should be, Richard’s own thoughts tacked on uselessly. _If not of me than at least the things that might happen you if you stay with me._

“I love you. And if I really wanted to I could walk away. Leave you to kill yourself and convince myself that we never had something to lose. But I don’t want to do that,” 

“The first time you picked me up I thought about making you drop me,” it was a low blow. “I reached inside your head and almost made your arms weak,” One that Richard could almost regret but Daniel was veering rapidly towards a point Richard had never let himself even acknowledge existed. Why couldn’t he understand: there was no way this ended well for either of them. Because it was incredibly apparent that Richard couldn’t say no to him, he’d spent the past two weeks asking ‘how high’ every time Daniel bid him ‘jump’—it rested on Daniel’s shoulders to end this before it got worse. Daniel’s thoughts spun into a hurricane around him. Fear anger resignation acceptance determination and no, no, no, that was not how that was supposed to go.

Richard felt the grip on his shirt tighten, lift up as Daniel raised himself higher. “You said you trusted me. More than anyone else?” a pause, Richard’s heart felt like it might fail him. He nodded once. “Fine. Then you’ve got to trust me now and stop punishing yourself for me. I’ll decide—I’m the one you hurt, right? I’m the one who gets to decide how I feel about you,” Daniel pulled him up higher, shirt bunching up tight under his arms. Any more and Richard was going to have to raise up onto his toes. “And if I decide that I still want to love you, there’s nothing you can do about it,” 

“I could still do a lot about it,” and it was half threat half promise and Daniel was hovering high enough that it was so easy for Richard to reach out and put a hand on his knee. The bunching at this armpits loosened as Daniel’s hold relaxed. Not enough to let him go. 

“Maybe,” and Daniel lowered him more, drifting with the motion. Bringing his face in closer. “But I don’t think you will,” 

He wants to kiss me, Richard realized, without any other thought to accompany it. “You’re wrong,” and it was surprisingly easy to relax back, Daniel’s hands agreeably letting him settle onto the rooftop. Still didn’t let him go, though. “I’ll hurt you again, even if I don’t mean to,” worse yet, the people Richard was trying to hurt would get to Daniel but that pathway was unwalkable. Richard’s mind acknowledged it the way a hiker might notice and avoid a ten thousand foot sheer drop. 

“I think I can take a little more than you give me credit for,” and maybe it was a joke or a jab or. It didn’t matter. His lips were warm and wet against Richard’s painfully chapped ones.


End file.
